


To Build a Home

by annodominique



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Domestic destiel, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Road Trip, Sexual Tension, Smut, Top!Cas, UST, bottom!Dean, bunker!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:12:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annodominique/pseuds/annodominique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels like a punch in the gut everytime Cas says 'thank you'. 'Thank you for letting me stay, Dean,''Thank you for not kicking me out,' 'Thank you for letting me borrow your old clothes,' 'Thank you for driving me,' 'Thank you for buying me food,' Fucking thank you this thank you that. Like he's being given a piece of heaven.</p><p>How Dean finally forgave Cas for everything he sacrificed for Dean. How Dean finally learned to forgive himself for everything he put Cas through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blueprint and Doors

**Author's Note:**

> No smut yet. You've been warned.

It feels like a punch in the gut everytime Cas says 'thank you'. ' _ Thank you for letting me stay, Dean,''Thank you for not kicking me out,' 'Thank you for letting me borrow your old clothes,' 'Thank you for driving me,' 'Thank you for buying me food, _ ' Fucking thank you this thank you that. Like he's being given a piece of heaven.

\--

Dean remembers waking up in one of the bunker rooms, feeling like he'd been used as a human punching bag, mouth dry, and the back of his eyes burning. He had bruises on his arms and his jaw felt like it's been broken numerous times. The odor of stench that was so distinctive of demons hung lazily in the air, like a fog. There was a dull, deep ache on his right arm, where the veins looked so red and distended, and a blackened bruise was all that's left of the Mark of Cain. Dean remembers, the first thought on his mind was,  _ _ 'What have you done, Cas?' _ _

_ _ \-- _ _

He remembers everything before that.

"I am not asking for your permission, Dean. I am telling you."

Cas peered at him through glassy blue eyes, lips serene and stance so angel-like Dean could swear he was the same junkless soldier of the high heavens when he first walked in that barn, a lifetime ago it seemed. Dean was helpless inside the demon trap, and even as the Mark burned like bitch on his arm, threatening dark things ahead of him, Dean tried to break free off the leather that bound him to that single chair in the dungeon.

"Cas, I'm asking you. Don't do this," it was close to begging, and he did not care.

Everything human inside him, what was left of Dean Winchester, screamed that this was not what he wanted.

"Cas, please."

"I'm sorry Dean. This is the only way."

"Fuck you, Cas. I don't need this from you right now. You do this, you fucking do this, and I won't forgive you."

The angel looked down for a beat, eyes shadowed, and then looked straight up at Dean, the decision in his eyes unwavering. Stubborn asshole.

"Do not touch me! Dont you dare, Cas! Sam, do something!" Sam's tall figure stood in the darkened room, gripping tight an old syringe in his hand. He walked to them with a pained expression.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

\--

He remembers Cas's grace burning white-hot in his arm, it felt alive, strong as a current, a steady beat. He remembers as it lodged into the farthest recesses of his humanity, somehow finding a niche, making itself dissolve, it was everywhere. Like hot melted silver filling a mold. It was glorious. And all Dean could do was weep. And then blackness.

\--

He knows that Sam is way past his breaking point. And that he's just keeping it all together, putting up a front for Dean. He feels like Sam had been running a marathon this whole time, carrying Dean on his back, and right about now, he just crossed the finish line, is ready to collapse on the ground but refuses to do so. For Dean. And damn, does Dean feel lower than shit for that, and for everything in his life.

"Dean, we can't just kick him out," Sam says in a hushed tone, so that Cas would not hear from the library. Dean downs his glass of whiskey. Dean looks at Sam, he takes in his brother's harried look, he looks worse than when he was undergoing the trials. No, he can't. He still can't stay with Cas under the same roof. He seethes a little inside, feels violated, feels helpless, unworthy. All he can think of is, this is the worst feeling in the world.

"You're right, Sam. We can't kick him out. I'll go." Sam looks at him blankly, painfully.

"Dean, you don't have to do this."

A few moments and Cas strides in the kitchen, and it's the first time he allows himself to truly look at Cas. His breath takes, and something beats inside him, maybe his heart, if it's still in there. A weight settles there, and it's so heavy Dean wants to hit something.

"You don't have to..go, Dean. I will. I understand completely. I should have left sooner."

"Cas, you have nowhere to go," Sam cuts in.

"I can take care of myself, Sam. I have done it before. Don't worry about me," he attempts a smile, and in the next second he was walking away.

Dean doesn't know anything but hurt now. What is he even here for anymore? What is he even trying to prove anymore? Or to fight for? He strides in big steps, out the kitchen and towards the hall, to the lobby, where Cas was going up the stairs to walk out of the bunker, out their lives. And maybe that's for the best, but he doesn't stop the words out of his mouth from making a mistake, most definitely.

"Wait."

Cas stops, and looks down at him. God, he looks so small and human... _ Cas, what have you done? _

"You can stay." And that was that. Dean walks back to the hall, away from Sam, and towards his room, where he will be staying cooped up for days, if he can help it.

\--

He does not come out of his room until the next day, dead of the night. And only to creep out of the bunker, to drive away in the impala, to find a bar, drown his system in liquor. Did Cas stay? He doesn't care. He'd done his part, or what's to be expected of him, the fucking least he could do when the fucking angel gave up heaven for a feckless husk of a man. He'd asked him to stay. Spare him the guilt trip. He's had enough of useless bullshit emotions. He's done.

The alcohol was comfortably numbing. A state he'd finally achieved after a whole day of drinking. So Dean drank and drove back to the bunker, so kill him. The plan was to go back in the middle of the night. And here he is, sporting a black eye from fighting with a burly bouncer, and two bottles of a jack for his next waking moments, striding back in the dark lobby of the bunker. His breath hitches, his eyes wary, looking about.

There is low light in the study, and Dean braces himself, for what, he doesn't admit to himself. He walks on.

It was Sam. On his laptop, researching God-knows-what. He looks up, and Dean sees his brother somehow looking a lot better from the last time he'd seen him. Three days, he's gotta give it to Sam, amazing refractory period. A+. But there's still that pained look Sam gives him these days. Sam stands up, acknowledging him. Probably cataloguing how messed up Dean looks.

"Glad you turned back up, Dean. There's food in the fridge." Sam moves towards the bedroom hall,

Dean stands still, scrunching in his hand the brown paper pag where he kept the liquor. Sam stops in the threshold of the hall to say,

"Oh, and we've moved Cas to the bedroom across the furnace room. He's uh, asleep right now, I guess," then he walks away, his bedroom door closing quietly shortly after.

Dean walked briskly towards his own room, before a dam wall breaks inside him, he has to be in his room. When he finally closes his bedroom door, and sits down on his bed, cradles his face in his hands, he releases the breath he doesn't know he's been holding when he'd first walked in the bunker that night.

\--

"Thank you for letting me stay, Dean," Cas says over breakfast.

Dean takes his plate to his room.

\--

Something is burning. Dean smells it from the shower, he doesn't even dry himself, he puts on clothes and walks into the kitchen. He finds Cas frantically raking burned eggs from a blackened pan, oil sloshing to the gas stove, fueling the fire to go about three feet up. Dean runs to the stove, pushes Cas aside.

"Move! Cas, for chrissake!" He turns the gas range off, puts a damp rag over the fire. Cas drops the pan and eggs on the floor, Dean hears him yelp in pain.

"Sonofabi-" the burning oil is still steaming against Cas's left hand. Dean yanked him to the sink, quickly opening the tap and running the coldest water against Cas's burned hand.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas says, a whisper. And Dean can feel his eyes boring into the side of Dean's face. Dean keeps quiet, and grips Cas's wrist steadily, mechanically, under the freezing water. The next second he's walking out of the room.

He comes back with burn ointment and a roll of gauze. Dean doesn't say anything as he dries and dresses Cas's wounds. He doesn't need to.

"Thank you, Dean." Always the thank you. Fuck that.

\--

Sam found a case in Wichita. Dean thinks this case might just save his sanity. He's tired of drunk nights just to keep his body numb, and his mind from going over the edge. So he volunteers to go, Sam asks to come. It is after all a vamp case, at least they suspect. He hears Cas tell Sam that he's not going, that he might just slow them down, or do more damage. Good.  _ _ Thank fuck for that. _ _ He does not need to be around Cas.

Vampires are ugly, sick creatures if you ask Dean. And he gets a thrill killing every last one of them in the vamp nest he and Sam found. They finished easy, and Dean somehow wishes otherwise. God, he needed the high. They should go home, but Dean opts to stay at a hotel for the night when it's just four-hour drive home.

Sam stows the argument, decides to just go with it, leaves the car, and checks them in.

Sixteen hours, that's the total time Dean takes sweetly before going back to the bunker. Sam hurries inside.  _ _ Huh _ _ , Dean thinks smugly,  _ _ don't expect he'd be there, Sammy _ _ _. _

Dean tinkers under the hood of the impala for a lengthy time before he heads inside the bunker. He walks in on laughter.  _ Fucking  _ _ _ laughter _ _ . In the kitchen, Sam is eating meringue pie. And  _ _ Cas _ _ , Cas is still there. He looks weird without the button-up collared shirt. Cas cannot be more human, wearing a tattered blue t-shirt, hair looking like he just rolled out of bed, a cup of something in his hands, and big smile on his face that does not quite reach his eyes.

_ _ Cas is human, and he's still here. _ _ _ _

Dean walks on, towards his room, shuts the door, releases a hitch in his breath. And he thinks he should stop always holding his breath around Cas. It's becoming a habit.

\--

_ Gunshots, _ unmistakable sound of gunshots.

"The hell is that?" Dean storms in the study where Sam was nose deep in whatever men of letters crap he's up to these days.

"Uh, Cas is in the gun range. He asked if he can practice." Dean stares at him, panic in his eyes, settling low in his stomach.

"And you just let him down there? Unsupervised?"

Sam initially looks confused, and then he swears Sam almost smiled at him.

"Dean, he's more than capable. Don't you think you're overreacting a bit here? This is Cas, heavenly soldier Castiel. Who bled and burned and fell, probably more times than we ever did. Ring a bell?"

Smug asshole, his brother.

"Fuck you, Sammy."

Cas is firing a gun, alone. Dean wishes he can help himself to stop thinking about how Cas can possibly injure himself, or can kill himself.  _ _ God, I need to get a hobby. _ _ _ He's a fucking grown ass man. If he fucking kills himself, we'll have a funeral. _

Dean storms out of the bunker, to fucking God knows where.

\---

These days, Sam seems to be MIA. If he's not, Dean sees a new energy in him, a spring in his step so to speak, a spark in his eyes--hope? huh. New girl? Possibly. One thing Dean knows for sure, Sam is in a relationship with his laptop. And he knows it's not porn because Sam can never be that enthusiastic about porn. Whatever, what a nerd.

\---

Dean finds a case in North Carolina, and Sam is not around. It's a possible rouge angel or a witch case, stuff can only be weird miracles or grade A spellwork. Dean leaves Sam a voicemail before heading out.

"Asswipe, found a case in Raleigh. Just want you to know in case you can take time off your precious schedule." Dean tosses the phone in his duffle, slings the bag onto his shoulder, turns to leave, and sees Cas standing by the foot of the stairs.

Man, you gotta give it Cas. Somehow, human clothes work on him good. He had a baller cap on, Dean's old graphic shirt and loose jeans, a messenger black bag that should make him look like a postman but somehow, does not. He gives Dean a little smile.

"I'm going with you."

Dean wants to fling himself into the sun. How does one respond to this smiling, movie poster boy Cas?

"Yeah right, _B_ _rad_ _P_ _itt_. No," Dean proceeds to the stairs, effectively shoving Cas out of the way. The ex-angel follows him all the way outside the bunker.

"Sam told me to come with you on the next case." Cas stood by the passenger door of the Impala.

"Yeah, well, Sam, can go to friggin' Timbuktu for all I care. You're not coming." He faces Cas, making him know just how serious Dean is being right now.

Dean opens his door, gets in the car, starts the engine. But Cas gets in, too, casually takes his sweet time buckling his seatbelt up, gets fucking comfortable, looks out the fucking window like this is some kind of a road trip he's on.

Dean looks at him unbelievingly, kills the engine, stares some more. Fucking rude ass angel.

"Didn't you hear what I just said, Cas?"

"I think you shouldn't be alone on a hunt, Dean. These are dangerous missions."

"I shouldn't _\--what?_ Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I assure you, I'm not. I promised your brother--"

"Well fuck him,"

"I don't think that would be-"

"Shut up."

Cas's lips were suddenly drawn to a thin line, _God, he's so stubborn_.

"Dean, I know you're mad at me for what I did. For giving up my grace to save you from the Mark of Cain. I want to say I'm sorry, but I would do it all again in a--"

"You know what? You can fuck right off, Cas."

Dean starts the engine, jabs on the cassette player, blasting ACDC, and then cranks up the volume. That should shut him up. It's gonna be a long drive to North Carolina.

\---

Cas doesn't say anything, they drove in tense silence broken only by Dean's music. Dean tries to draw to comfort in the scenery, rolling hills, distant mountains, acres and acres of scenic farm lands. Once a while, he steals glimpses at Cas in the passenger seat. _Is he breathing? Is the guy even real?_ Long, bony fingers gripping a jean-clad knee. Wind in his hair, _W_ _hen was it that shade of brown? When was it so unkempt?_ Guy keeps his window open, his shirt flapping like a flag in the wind, _does he care?_ Dean doubts Cas packed a jacket in that damned messenger bag.

Five hours later, Dean finally decides to stop for food and fuel. Cas stares at him like he was surprised Dean finally gave in to his humanly functions.

"Take a leak, a dump, whatever. We're here for half an hour, tops."

It's a shabby-looking joint in a shabby-looking industrial town. The rusty, outdated sign outside the store says MJ Gas n' Stop. Dean heads inside, is greeted by a frowning middle-aged lady who looked like she would rather be somewhere, Dean doesn't blame her. He gets food and a couple of beers, pays, and heads out. Rolls his eyes as he was at the door, and gives in, goes back inside to get Cas bottled water.

Cas is waiting inside the Impala, reading a fucking book. He reads too closely, tattered paperback book folded along the spine, his hands angling the page towards the light through the foggy window. There's a chill outside, and Dean smirks knowingly that Cas refuses to come out in the chill without a jacket. Winchester top ten rule: Don't die without a jacket, or socks.

\---

Dean gets in, tosses Cas a sandwich and the water bottle.

"Thank you, Dean." He says thank you like it's fucking gourmet dinner.

Dean eats his sandwich in two minutes, he pops a can of beer and halves it in one slug. And then he reaches in the back seat for his duffle bag, rummages through it, finds what he's looking for, and tosses it to Cas's lap unceremoniously.

"If you're going on a hunt with me, I gotta be sure I can reach you."

Cas looks at the mobile phone on his lap, and smiles unashamedly. _Give a dog a bone._

"Thank you, Dean." _Fffu--!_

"It's not even a smart phone, Cas. Don't get excited. None of those poop cartoon stuff you used to send."

Dean starts the engine and heads out the joint. Cas opens the flip phone, presses a couple of buttons.

"I like it." Cas looks at him, big smile on his face like it's fucking Christmas morning. _Damn,_ Dean should have gotten him a smart phone.

"Yeah, right, whatever."

They don't talk after that.

\---

It's another eight hours to Raleigh, they stay in a rundown motel room in Lexington for the night. As soon as they enter the room, Dean hits the shower. he finishes quickly, then practically throws his body to the bed. Damn, he was dead tired.

Cas comes out of the bathroom to the dark, unlit motel bedroom. Dean can hear his feet shuffle towards his own bed. He hears Cas sigh as the bed creaks under his weight. And then the sound of bed sheets being drawn, and of fluffing a stubborn pillow. A low white light illuminates Cas's lying-down silhouette in the dark, and then the familiar sound of phone keys being pressed.

And Dean's own mobile phone buzzing on vibrate on top of the nightstand, seconds later.

 _'_ _Good night, Dean_.' Cas's message says.

\---

Dean wakes up to a pink sunrise flooding through the motel windows, and Cas's silhouette blocking most of it. Dean gets up, goes to shower.

They drive through Kentucky, silent and undisturbed quiet. Def Leppard plays on the radio, the windows are rolled down and there's a chill in the morning air. Dean sees tiny goosebumps on Cas's arms, Dean allows himself to look at Cas—hands and fingers, skin and arms, the column of his neck and shoulders, and hair. _Jesus, his hair._ They stop at a joint where Dean found a thrift store nearby, buys Cas a freaking jacket.

\---

They stop for lunch in Roanoke, Cas picks a table outside the small restaurant. Dean asks himself why he had to buy Cas a black hoodie. He looks like the brooding drummer in a teenage punk band. Only Cas is smiling. Real fucking smiling up at Dean when their food arrives.

"It's a beautiful day, Dean. This is beautiful."

Well, it _is_ a damn good day. Blue skies and a cool blue mountain view outside. It was fucking perfect.

"Right, Shakespeare." Dean says, digging into his burger. Cas's Sheperd's Pie looks so good Dean almost orders one for himself, but then Cas scoops two spoonfuls and puts them on Dean's plate.

Dean smiles for the first time that day.

One hour, one hour into Raleigh, and Cas chooses to speak up.

"Are you ever going to talk to me properly again?"

"Not if I can help it."

Cas doesn't talk, for a long time. _Until he does._

"I know what you feel, Dean. I understand that you feel betrayed by me. And that you feel anger towards me."

Damn, it's so easy to feel bad about it again. _Why is Cas bringing this up now?_

"Anger doesn't even begin to cover it, Cas."

Cas doesn't say anything, but Dean feels his eyes boring into his face.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you, Dean. But.." Cas looks down at his hands.

"You gave up.. everything, Cas. Fucking everything you are, what you have—do you realize—?" God, he's so mad. There's a slight shake in his voice, a tremor in his fingers on the steering wheel, that he has to lift his hand to brush the fingers to his hair to keep them from shaking. Dean calms himself, steadies his hand on the wheel, and laughs. A mirthless, sarcastic laugh.

"And for what?" he scoffs. "Me?"

A beat of silence, and Cas almost whispers, mostly to himself, "Yes."

It's a pregnant yes. Dean wonders how a single word can be so encompassing. They're like walking wounds right now, the two of them. It's painful looking at Cas, and Dean can only imagine the pain Cas is feeling right now, all that he's been through, everything he's going through, all the new humanness in him. It's painful, and it's raw, and honest, and humble, and human.

"This is a load of bullshit, man. You've always made bad decisions Cas. But this, this does it. This takes the cake."

It takes long before Cas answers, and quietly.

“You must understand, Dean. I _needed_ to do it. I couldn't _not_ do it."

Dean doesn't answer. Because the thing is, he _does_ understand. He understands clearly, he just doesn't know what to do about it. He wants to thrash and break things, that's for sure.

"Please don't ask me to leave." Cas says.

A lump forms in Dean's throat. How could Cas think he wants him out? How could he _beg_ like that? It's just a goddamn messed up situation. Dean pulls over the edge of the road, gets out of the car, walks away from Cas. He needs to walk this out, he doesn't need Cas to see him cry about this.

\---

They get to Raleigh without Dean's guts spilling out. Cas went back to being quiet after their little meltdown, and Dean isn't sure how he really feels about the situation, just that he wants to get this case done, and fucking go home where he will be able to hide from Cas.

The house looks really, really old, like Centennial old. They waited for the cover of the night before getting in. Dean is not really sure what they were dealing with, just that the newspaper source said that five people died there for the last two weeks, at different times, and that there were _some odd symbols written in red paint on the walls every time the house claims a victim._ It is totally their kind of shit, Dean's territory. This case would have been the equivalent of a therapy session if Cas had not tagged along, Dean thinks.

“These are very old spell work, Dean. Celtic.” Cas observes as he shines a flash light on the red painted wall.

“So it's an old witch that kills. No blood, no crime scene. Just vics falling dead and these ridiculous symbols suddenly showing up on the walls.”

\---

Nothing happens for the most of the night, they decide to wait it out. 3:30 am rolls in, and there's a sudden blast of cold air, and Dean's breathes out a heavy mist. Dean looks over at Cas, who was holding a rifle, calm and steady, but eyes that were wakeful. Cas, the soldier. Angel of the Lord, turned a helpless human.

There's a long-sounding and deafening screech, a ghost of a lady in black storms through the hallway, onto them. And Dean fires an iron bullet to her form. A shot and she dissolves in black smoke.

“She won't be gone for long, Cas. We don't have time, I say scorch the whole house.” He looks over at Cas. And suddenly she was there, behind Cas. Her face pale, long bony fingers around Cas's neck. How does she do it? She's a ghost.

She speaks in a different tongue, whispers to Cas eerily, eyes looking at Dean. She is flesh and something else. It finally dawns on Dean, that he can lose Cas to this bitch.

“What do you want?” Dean keeps a steady voice, his own rifle aimed at the ghost.

She keeps chanting her spells against Cas's ear, and suddenly Cas was shouting, arching his back away from the ghostly figure latching on him.

\---

“Cas!”

Blood. Blood drips on the floor from Cas's back.

“I swear to God, Cas, if you die, I'm gonna kill you!”

“Dean!”

Dean fires the bullet straight to her head. She dissolves again into the dark. Dean reaches Cas in no time, his back is soaked in blood, and Dean holds on to him.

“Cas, you're alright. You're alright, come here. Let's get out of here.”

“But Dean,”

“I'll take care of it.”

\---

Dean runs outside, Cas a mangled thing on his shoulder. He deposits Cas in the backseat of the Impala, rips his shirt from the back and sees the wounds on Cas's back. They were long, deep gashes, almost like claws ripped into his skin. Dean feels sick to his stomach, his heart beating double time. Panic, panic settles because he knows Cas is losing too much blood.

He's whispering things to Cas, unintelligible, trying to soothe him. When had he became so incapable of thought? His hands are everywhere, but useless, panicky. _Get a grip, Dean. You got this._ He takes out every piece of clothing in his bag, and in Cas's too, lays them on top of Cas's bleeding wounds.

“ _Cas please don't die on me.”_ Dean says as he ties a rope he kept in the trunk around Cas's torso to keep a pressure on the wounds.

“Dean, burn the house. I can hold out.” Cas chokes out.

And because Dean doesn't know what else to do, he listens to Cas. He gasses the house hurriedly, lights a match to it, and goes back to Cas.

“Please, Cas.”

Cas, the fucker, fucking smiles at him.

“I'm not dying Dean.” he says as the witch house burned in the front view of the Impala.

\---

Cas is unconscious as Dean stitches his wounds up in the motel bed. It's supposed to be a technical task, but Dean finds himself choking up on whatever the hell he's been feeling around Cas, as he stitches him up. _This, this was probably where his wings were. Beautiful, glorious things of heaven. Now this._

What has he done to Cas?

 


	2. Windows and Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It feels like a punch in the gut everytime Cas says 'thank you'. 'Thank you for letting me stay, Dean,''Thank you for not kicking me out,' 'Thank you for letting me borrow your old clothes,' 'Thank you for driving me,' 'Thank you for buying me food,' Fucking thank you this thank you that. Like he's being given a piece of heaven.
> 
> How Dean finally forgave Cas for everything he sacrificed for Dean. How Dean finally learned to forgive himself for everything he put Cas through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter. I enjoyed writing this. Still no smut yet. Peace out.

Of all the times that Dean's life could flash before his eyes, it's now in front of the deep, dug-out grave of the centennial witch-ghost he'd ganked, who also happened to have almost killed Cas. Dean looks at the burning fire licking at the bones in the dirt, not really seeing it because his mind wanders off to Cas, slumped facedown on the motel bed thirty minutes away, back bloodied and bruised from whatever the hell ancient spell the witch worked him up with. Cas had almost died tonight, he lost a lot of blood, and Dean feels dread for him, for Cas's mortality that was now fleeting, a mere snap of a finger and Cas could just...die.

The drive back to the motel is not any better. Dean stops at a local pharmacy to pick up food, some pain meds, and stuff for Cas's wounds. He even manages to goad the lady behind the counter to give him antibiotics even without a prescription. Alone with his thoughts, he heads back to the motel. Halfway, and he's having a full-on existential crisis. So what if the witch-bitch-ghost actually killed five people? So what? Dead people go to purgatory, heaven, hell. As they should. Everything is so temporal. Cas could have died because of the stupid task of ganking a ghost. Suddenly, nothing makes sense. But Dean feels like he's on the verge of something. Something entirely different.

He stares at the Cas-less motel bed, and his heart pummels down, like he's on the way down a roller coaster ride. Before panic sets in, he hears water running in the bathroom, and Dean suppresses a deep sigh of relief, sits down and buries his head in his hands.

Cas comes out of the bathroom shirtless, looking better than he probably feels. He sports a limp on the leg where it probably hurt his back to move. He looks up and smiles at Dean

"Hello, Dean."

"Heya, Cas." Dean clears his throat, stands up, holding the bag of stuff he bought. "How's your back feel?"

"Could be better"

"I'm sure." Dean chuckles. He jiggles the brown bag with food, and beams at Cas. "Let's eat."

\- - -

On the way back to Kansas, Cas sleeps most of the time, Dean broods. He checks himself, and decides, _m_ _ust be midlife crisis_ , _and he's not even fifty._

"Let me ask you something, real quick, Cas." He says when they get to Missouri. Cas's color is getting back up, he looks at Dean in question.

"Why are we put here?" Even to his ears, his question sounds ridiculous. But it's been nagging him.

"Believe me, I don't want to be that guy that asks that kind of crap. But give me a break here. You're the millennial guy, older than Mathuselah. Why the hell are we put here in this godforsaken rock, tell me."

Cas's solemn look doesn't waver. He doesn't even blink an eye.

"It's not something to be ashamed to ask that, Dean. It's a veritable question, I can understand why you would like to know."

"Well? Let me in on the secret already."

"It was very simple. You were made out of love and _for_ love."

Dean stares at Cas like he's sprouted literal wings.

"Really? You're gonna pull that card out on me?"

"Yes, really. I think if you really try, you would make sense out of it. Humanity has gone too far from its beginning, from its nature, that hearing about love is less of an experience compared to the technicalities that humans invented around it."

Cas looks through the windshield, his elbow resting on the rolled down passenger window. He looks so human right then, who happens to be stating some deep ass philosophical shit as if it's fact, as if he's merely telling a story he's all too familiar with, handed down through generations in oral tradition.

"You were made out of the laughter of God," Cas smiles, looking like he's remembering something. "That's the story. You were made because God cannot contain his love in himself. You were made to freely give love back—to God and anyone you wish to give it to. Everything about you is made because of, and _for_ love."

They share a look, and Cas smiles at him. It's a fucking hallmark moment. Perfect, just what Dean needs.

"I'm glad to be human with you, Dean."

 _Is he really?_ Dean tries to look for a sign that Cas is bluffing. He decides to scoff it off. _Because w_ _ho in their right frame of mind would fucking prefer bleeding and shitting, and clawing from mortality over_ _the celestial perks of being a Seraph in the Heavenly Host_ _? Who?_

"You say that now, Cas." Dean drawls out, matter-of-factly.

"What, now that I am injured and almost maimed?"

Cheeky son of a bitch.

"So this..this love crap that you say we're put here for. Wow, man, that's some stock phrase right there. What does that even mean? I mean, what? Do I suddenly decide to donate my other kidney? Host a charity event or some shit? Give all my money to the poor? Fucking be Mother Teresa to everyone I see?"

"No. I don't think you need to do anything about it, Dean. That's obligation, not love. These things that people do that are nice, are done out of love. You don't do beautiful things to generate love, you do them because you have love _in_ you."

"Well fuck me in the face. Why didn't you say so?"

Cas squints at him.

"It is not something to be ridiculed. It is the truth. Tell me something. Why are you doing what you do, Dean?"

It is the equivalent of being hit with a sledgehammer. If he has a business card, the quote would say, "Saving People, Hunting Things, The Family Business." He's been doing it all his life, and Cas hits him with this question now in the middle of fucking Missouri.

' _Why_ _'_ is the goddamned question now. _Why, in the world, is he doing what he does_? Does Dean have an answer? _Fuck no._ Is he in fucking Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? Can he fucking call a friend?

"Why are you?" Dean throws back the question to Cas. Cas looks at him inquiringly. And anger hits him squarely in the gut.

"You seem like you got it all figured out. Maybe I should ask you the same question, Cas. Why are you doing what you do?"

Cas stares out, his jaw clenching.

"What are you doing here _with me_ , ganking ghost ass witches that almost killed you, when you can be anywhere in the world right now? Or when you could have been anywhere in the goddamned freakin' universe if only you haven't made such a dick move of giving up your grace for me?! Why?"

Cas just looks at him, really looks at him., but he doesn't say an answer.

It takes a moment. Before it finally clicks, and Dean doesn't need an answer anymore.

\---

Apparently, Sam is taking classes in Fort Hays University. At least, that's what the open web page in Sam's laptop says when Dean and Cas walks in the bunker from the witch hunt.

Advanced Legal Writing, Criminal Procedure, Contract Drafting. This, this is Sam's new girlfriend.

Sam walks in and sees Dean looking at his computer. Dean speaks before Sam can make a stupid excuse.

"Hey Sam, apparently Mr. Samuel Winchester, you passed your—what's this, Mergers and Acquisitions for the fall semester. 3.7, wow. I'd imagine that's like, ceiling high."

"Dean, I can explain."

"When were you gonna tell me?"

"It's not a big deal. It's just a couple of courses, Dean."

Dean laughs mirthlessly.

"Yeah, it's not a big deal. You must only go take a three-hour ride to Hays twice a week to take a class, just for the heck of it. No biggie."

Sam stands there, hands clasped into fists at his sides. Dean hates himself so much right now that his brother has to hide from him something that Sam really wants for himself. Dean walks away, to his room leaving Sam and Cas in the study.

\--

There's tension. With him and Sam. With him and Cas. These days, Sam looks guarded and guilty, like when he was high on demon blood. Well at least, it's not demon blood now. It's fucking law courses.

Dean's been avoiding Cas, too. There's something that he realizes slowly but surely. That Cas is strong, that he cannot be swayed. That he is human now, but his morals are just the same when he was an angel. That he has a fountain of knowledge inside him, he knows the truth, he's still just a thing of heaven trapped in a human vessel. And Dean probably looks like a flailing, pouting fish to him. He feels stupid, useless, unworthy. And mad. Because of all that Cas gave up for him.

But for the life of him, he cannot leave it alone. He cooks breakfast and stares at Cas over the breakfast table, who's chewing gently, stealing glimpses, fucking self-consciously. _When was Cas ever self-conscious?_

\---

Dean doesn't know when he suddenly decided to abandon all Natural Law, as he refuses to knock on Cas's bedroom door, to just enter, startling a shirtless Cas who was lying sideways, reading. His back looks so bad, there are traces of healing but the middle of the wounds are still fresh.

"Get up." Dean says as he opens the bedside drawer where the first aid kit is stored. And Cas does get up, giving Dean a furrowed, suspecting look.

"Your back needs to be disinfected and dressed, Cas. It's going to be infected if you just air them out."

Dean proceeds to clean Cas's wounds. He's been itching to do it for days, and he finally gives in this morning.

Cas lets out a yelp of pain as Dean dabs peroxide on the stitched-up gashes.

"Sorry." Dean internally scolds himself, he doesn't say sorry. _When does he say sorry?_ For God's sake he's dressing a wound.

He disinfects every wound, takes his time, hands and fingers gentle against Cas's skin. Cas either grunts or hisses, and Dean stares at the hair curling against his nape, the bony juts of the spine on his back, his shoulder blades against his skin. Dean unrolls a gauze and asks Cas to raise his arms. He rolls the gauze around Cas's torso, quietly, mechanically. Cas is holding his breath. _Good._

"Thank you, Dean." Cas looks at him, eyes that seem perpetually pained, sincere, always grateful.

Dean walks out of the room, and releases a breath.

\--

Sam finds a case in Denver. Dean almost doesn't take it, but he needs to talk to Sammy, and he cannot do that under normal circumstances. So they go. Cas stays behind, Dean leaves him a scrawled out note on how he can dress his wounds by himself.

His talk with Sam is not that simple as the salt and burn hunt they just finished.

"You can stop hunting, Sam."

"What are you saying, Dean?"

"I'm saying, you should do what you want to do. If you want to go back to law school, do it. I'm not gonna stop you."

"Huh." Sam just grunts.

Dean pulls the car over the side of the road.

"I'm serious here, man."

Sam looks at him, fucking hopefully. And he can't help but feel proud for his little brother. Sam is made for greater things.

"Do what you need to do. I'm not dad, I don't want to be dad. I'm just so proud and happy you're doing this for yourself, Sammy. This, what we do. This is not the way to go. It's fucking not, I know it."

He might as well have become a unicorn the way that Sam is looking at him.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" But Sam's lips are twitching into a smile. And they're just two idiot brothers who love each other so much.

"Shut up, bitch." Dean chuckles, shakes his head, and looks out the window. It's so damned hard being a man during sappy moments like this.

Silence, and then Sam says,

"Thank you, Dean."

\--

It's the next day when they get back to Lawrence. And Cas is not in the bunker.

Dean cannot even believe that he starts losing his shit at the mere thought that Cas had gone. _God, he left._ Internal panic settles in, he tries to hide it from Sam, goddamn it, he even tries to deny it to himself that he's not overwrought about Cas's leaving.

He has tried going around town, asking people if they'd seen Cas. He rings his phone for the umpteenth time, it goes again to voicemail. He leaves another message.

"Cas, what the hell, man? Pick up. Where the fuck are you?"

"Dean, will you just relax? Cas is not a child, he'll be here soon." Sam says over his laptop.

"I'm relaxed okay?"

Sam grunts sarcastically. Bitch.

\---

Dusk rolls in, and so does Cas. Looking fucking chipper.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

In the background Sam buries his head in his hands, fucking hiding a smirk. It isn't actually funny.

Cas looks at him, confused.

"Uh, I was out looking for work Dean."

"Work?" Dean says the word like it's a ridiculous idea, _which it's not._

"Yes, Dean. Work."

He fucking hears Sam chuckling behind him.

"Well did you at least get one? Since you managed to alarm Dean in the six hours you've been 'missing'?" Sam asks, words dripping in sarcasm.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to alarm you."

"You didn't."

"I did get a job. Just a casual one, at the homeless shelter."

"Social work, that's great Cas! Congrats, we should celebrate." Sam stands up to give Cas a congratulatory pat, then looks over at Dean. “Right, Dean?”

He is happy for Cas, just not about the bit where Cas didn't even bother to let them know he hasn't left for fucking Alaska.

"I'm turning in for the night. I'm beat."

He walks away, to his room.

\--

11:15 and he receives a text from Cas.

" **I left my phone in the nightstand.** "

Dean immediately texts back.

 **"Yeah, that's what a mobile phone is for, Cas. To leave at home**."

He seethes so easily.

It takes Cas twenty minutes to reply. He's probably decoding the amount of sarcasm in Dean's last text.

**"Thank you for worrying about me today, Dean."**

**"Fuck you, Cas. Fuck. You."**

**"You're angry."**

**"No shit."**

**"I'm sorry."**

When Dean doesn't reply, Cas texts a little after midnight.

" **Good night, Dean."**

_Fuck._

_\--_

They move Sam to Hays that October. It's not a big move as Sam does not have too many things, just his books and laptop, the clothes on his back, and some jeans and plaids. The bulk of his things are the books. _You're a nerd once, you're a nerd all your life._

They don't actually need to go, all three of them. But Dean wants to see Sam off. He's just so fucking proud of his brother. They put away Sam's stuff in a bedspace downtown near the campus, and go off to eat out for dinner.

Dean says they should eat somewhere fancy. It is afterall, a celebration. But then Cas suggests the burger joint near

the uni, and they all agree there's no use in pretending they don't like good old-fashioned burgers best. Fuck fancy.

They seat themselves, and Dean tries to remember being this particularly not-miserable. It's all good. 

"Cas???" A high-pitched female voice. Cas turns around in his seat, looks up. The voice belongs to a really pretty brunette. _Well_ , _hello Julia Roberts smile._  

"Dani!" This girl's name is fucking Dani. Cas stands up, beams a smile at "Dani" and throws himself to hug her. Dean tries to smile in a non-weird way.

"What brings you here?" asks Cas.

"This is actually my hometown, I'm staying with my parents for the weekend holiday. And you?" Dani says, flashing her really, _really_ sparkling smile.

"Dropping off a friend who will be studying in the University." Cas turns to Sam. "This is Sam. Sam, Dani."

Dean clears his throat.

"Dean," Dean says, introducing himself with a wink.

Dani smiles at them more. She seems really...nice. Cookie-cutter nice. The kind of girl you take home to your parents, the kind of girl you don't go messing around with, because you know, you just know that this girl is brains and prowess and pretty.

"Nice to meet you, guys...Cas! It's so nice to see you here! Did you miss me at work?"

"Yes. It's not the same without you, of course."

Dean raises both eyebrows.

"Do you.. go to work with Cas?" Sam asks. "At the homeless shelter?"

"Yes. We work together."

"She's my boss."

"I'm just on vacation for a month." Dean looks as Dani's hand lingers on Cas's shoulder, squeezing. She's smiling at Cas every chance she gets. 

"It's really nice bumping into you here, Cas." She gives him another tight hug. _Guy can't help he's adorable._

"I really should be going. It's nice to know you, Sam and Dean."

They say goodbye. Dean checks her out more as she's leaving.

"So Cas, you a ladies' man now?" Dean says, when Dani's out of earshot.

"I don't know what you mean, Dean."

"Dean means that Dani seems like a really nice girl, and he thinks she likes you."

"Dani? No, she's just a friend."

Their drinks and fries arrive.

"I'm actually finding it quite easy to make friends. People are generally good, and they would show you good if they know you mean well. Friendships are rewarding."

"That's awesome, Cas." Sam seems to agree. If he can probably give Cas a My Little Pony Friendship is Magic Award, he would.

"There are other stuff too, Cas. Other than friendship, I mean." Sam goes on about, explaining. Cas just looks at him quizzically.

"I mean, Cas, you can find a girl, settle down. If you want, you can marry."

Dean scoffs at Sam's reference to the Cat Stevens song. _Damn, Sam must be in a really good mood to break from his lawyer character like that._ Even Sam laughs at himself.

"What I mean to say, Cas, is that you can have it all. A house in the suburbs, white picket fence, a wife and 2 kids, baby on the way, a dog..you can have it all."

"If he wants to." Dean interjects, clapping the salt from the fries off his hands.

"Do you?" asks Dean.

"What?" Cas busies himself with looking at the menu.

"Want a house, kids, a dog?"

Cas doesn't answer right away. But he does answer.

"Yes. Maybe."

Sam grins, and then looks from Cas to Dean awkwardly.

"A wife?" Dean prods, nonchalantly.

Cas turns the menu over.

"No, I'm not looking for a wife," Cas fucking says casually, like he's spewing some random piece of useless information.

Sam looks more from Cas to Dean, a shit-eating smirk on his face, like this doesn't concern him at all, like he's a mere spectator.

Dean eats his fries with utmost concentration.

\--

The drive back to the bunker is mainly Cas snapping pictures of the scenery with his new smart phone. Sam gave him an old one from god-knows-where, and needless to say, Cas is delighted. Dean lets him take a picture of him driving. Even joins in on a selfie, with him and Cas wearing Ray-Bans. Cas sends it to Sam. 

\---

Cas and Dean settle into bunker life. Dean learns that Cas walks thirty minutes to work everyday, and he doesn't know whether to laugh about it or what. The guy must be mad. So Dean suggests that Cas can either get a car, or Dean can drop him off to work every morning.

"I still don't have money for insurance, Dean."

_The hell does he know about insurance?_

"Gee, look at you Cas, speaking human. Where'd you learn to dirty talk like that?"

Cas blushes, Dean doesn't know what to make of it.

"I asked at work. Gina, a girl in the kitchen advised me that I need insurance if I'm going to own a car."

"She hot?"

"I don't know what your definition of hot is, Dean."

"Dude, you seriously need to get laid."

So they decide that Dean is going to drop Cas off to work.

"Thank you, Dean."

 _Yeah, yeah_.

\--

It's a spur of the moment decision. Buying the house. It seems it has been forever in the market, and the cost is so cheap, it practically costs nothing, which is convenient for Dean as he actually needs to drain all his cash to be able to buy this cheap-ass house.

It's outside of town, shrouded by trees, in an area where mechanic business actually thrives, and there are a number of competition.

The house is good-size, two-story, a front balcony, is evidently very very old, and needs a ton of repair work. It's nothing fancy and probably just needs to be get ridden off by the owner. It does not even need a realtor to sell, Dean pays it off to the seller. Just like that, Dean owns a house.

What actually gets Dean to buy the property is the scrap yard out back. It's big, and cannot be described as spacious because it's filled to the last square foot with scrap. Scrap metal, cars as old as time seemingly non-salvageable, and broken beyond redemption; greasy spare parts, and just general outdated, godforsaken, scrap so old they're literally straight from a time capsule. Just what Dean needs.

The real reason why the house isn't sold yet, is because it's fucking haunted. Of all the dumbass reasons. Which makes it so much easier for Dean to make the decision of buying it. It's a goddamn match made in heaven, at least for Dean.

Dean ganks the ghosts in the property fast. Easy-peasy. He then starts working in the backyard, slowly and surely restoring it to any semblance of real, honest-to-goodness car yard.

So it goes everyday that Dean drops Cas off to work, Dean goes to work on his fucking new property. When noon rolls in, Dean goes to town and eats lunch with Cas, goes back to work the house in the afternoon, and goes home to the bunker before dark. Cas is usually back in the bunker by the time Dean gets there (a work mate drops him off home). On weekends, Cas helps Dean clear his car yard.

"So, um. I was thinking the other day if you'd like to move in here when I finish the house reno."

They're under the April sun, it's hot and humid outside. Dean's covered in grease, his jeans are a thing from a massacre. Cas looks at him, his brows furrowed, Dean's gray band shirt sticking to his body, and soaked in sweat.

"I mean, if you don't want to, I understand, I—I mean, I, you know..." Dean stammers. He makes an effort to calm himself. Cas still looks at him, perplexed.

"What I'm actually saying, Cas, is I'm leaving the bunker once I'm done here. And you..you..y-you know you're welcome to move in here with me. When that time comes. If you want to."

Cas fucking stares at him more.

"Or you can just stay in the bunker. Or anywhere you want. For that matter. It's really up to you, man." Dean scratches at something behind his neck for the lack of anything to do with his free hand.

A beat, and Cas finally speaks up.

"I would like to move in with you, Dean. If you're agreeable to it."

Dean draws in a deep breath, before he speaks to keep his voice from shaking.

"Yeah man, that's what I said."

He moves away, gets work done.

If only to calm his nerves.

 TO BE CONTINUED...


	3. Tables and Chairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas move in together. Sexual tension, heyyy. Last chapter. Smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter and my favorite part. I wrote this to the same song on repeat, Hozier's "Like Real People Do". Loved writing this. Oh, and smut! finally! Peace out.

Dean desperately wonders how Cas is really doing. They spend their days in the bunker like housemates who might as well have nothing to do with each other. Dean loses himself in work, in alcohol because for the life of him, he cannot take another sober day of seeing just how sad Cas has become. It's like all the life has been sucked out of him, and humanity has finally seeped into his everyday menial existence, soaking it in a muck of routine shitty moments. In a place he probably doesn't want to be in. With a broken husk of a man he probably doesn't want for company. And Dean, Dean is the reason why Cas has reached this rock-bottom pit, his all time low. And it's the worst feeling.

And so when one day that Cas strolls in the study, finding Dean downing the last shot of whiskey from a large bottle, Dean halts him with an unsteady, jittery arm before Cas escapes to his room.

"You chose this." He says under his breath, his heart hammering against his ribcage, there was a thunder underneath his demeanor, and he's too fucking drunk to take any more bullshit.

"What?" Cas levels his eyes with his, trying to search probably if there's still some trace of sense left in him.

"You--you chose this." Somehow, anger gives way to hurt. Unwelcomed tears came, and Dean hates himself for it. For every single thing.

"Dean." Cas searches his face, and Dean ducks his head down to hide tears. Cas's hands are gentle, tipping his head back up, wiping his tears.

"You're right. I did."

"I'm sorry."

He sees Cas's lips quiver, and then he's being led to Cas's shoulder, he clutches Cas's shirt and holds on tight.

"I'm sorry, Cas. I'm sorry."

"Shh, I chose this. I chose you. And I would again if I have to. Y-you, you're worth every lifetime, Dean."

Against his I'm sorry's, Cas's words sink in, and Dean hears tiny sobs in between Cas's breaths, his shoulders shaking.

In the morning, over coffee, Dean scolds himself for his meltdown in Cas's arms last night. Cas strides in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Dean."

"Hey, Cas." He looks up from his cup of coffee, and steals a glance at Cas's direction, to see him grinning like an idiot at him.

"So..." Cas's smirk is positively toothy.

"Shut up." Dean takes a sip from his cup to hide his smile.

\---

May rolls in, the scrapyard is cleared, and they start fixing the roof.

"Roof needs major work, Cas. I hate to ask help, I know you've got your hands full already. I would ask Sam but he's too far away, and.."

"I would gladly help you, Dean."

"Just some hammering on the shingles, I wouldn't get you worked up that much.."

"Dean."

A week after, the new shingles are laid and hammered, the roof is brand new.

Dean proceeds to renovating the house interior. And he starts with the second room upstairs, it has big windows that open up to the east. He immediately calls it Cas's room. Dean reattaches a fallen crown moulding, patches up some broken walls, fixes some broken baseboards, and finally paints the walls a light tan color that reminded him of Cas's trenchcoat.

They move in by the end of June. Dean registers his auto shop, and gets a business permit. By July, he's steadily taking in customers. It's a solitary job, not at all clean, greasy even, and Dean loves every minute of it.

The house is a work in progress, and Dean doesn't mind at all how fucking weird Cas's choice in home decor is. There's cat pictures, and mismatched chairs, some tie-dyed curtains, a whole garden's worth of indoor plants, and an old television set that's been made into an aquarium with a lone purple-and-pink fighting fish that Cas named Matilda. The taming part of the house decor is all up to Dean, otherwise the house would probably look like a child was left to do with it as he pleases.

\---

It hits Dean one rainy summer day in July, and it hits him so subtly, low in his gut, making its way to his head, to his heart, agonizingly slow, delicate, breaking barriers smoothly, finding its way so surely like it knows where to go, to penetrate, and to stay. And it feels just right. Just fucking right. It is to the image of Cas by the foggy, rain-splattered old window in the living room, the gloomy faint light outside barely illuminating the room. And Cas, Cas who is probably texting Sam, or googling godknowswhat on his phone, a cup of something warm sits on the floor, near his bare toes. He doesn't look up, that familiar furrow on his brow showing, a squint in his eyes, hands and fingers steady, gripping the phone gently, he doesn't look up. And that's good because Dean's rooted on his spot by the threshold of the room that leads to the kitchen, his hands clammy, head swimming, mind a mush, looking positively discombobulated. He doesn't know what to do with this piece of information, that's been deeply buried for so long, but has sprouted all of a sudden. So he walks out, before he caves in.

\---

Skin shouldn't be disturbing. Dean has seen his fair share of skin in his lifetime. So the goosebumps on Cas's arms, his knuckles white against the Impala's steering wheel shouldn't disturb Dean at all as he lets Cas drive them outside of town to visit Sam. He has to physically pry his eyes away, only to look back, steal a glance at Cas's windblown hair, and miles and miles of sun-kissed skin against the delicate slope of his neck. He looks away, chokes on the spit he has to swallow.

"Are you alright, Dean?"

"Never better," he coughs out.

\---

And so it begins, that little things about Cas, especially mundane events that involved even a slither of nudity on Cas's part, unnerved Dean to the brink of insanity. Like that one time that Cas comes running in the kitchen fresh from a bath, to get his ringing mobile phone on the kitchen counter, clad only in loose black jeans. Dean who's leaning on the kitchen sink nursing a glass of lemonade then, had to painfully look at that single drop of water as it slid down between Cas's shoulder blades, down the curve of his lower back, to finally, finally disappear under the waistband of his Levi's. Dean wanted to fling himself to Mercury, because he shouldn't be this fucked up. He shouldn't be this fucked up about his friend Cas.

\---

He gets a dog. It's a Labradoodle Golden Retriever. At least that's what the girl in the pet shelter tells Dean. The puppy cried all the way to the house, and Dean tried to hush it, he even freaking sang to it to get it to stop crying.

When he got home, he let the dog drink and then propped it on Cas's bed before Cas came home from work.

Later, Cas strides in the kitchen holding the puppy on his arm, with the biggest, most fucking adorable smile plastered on his face that could probably end world hunger.

"This is the best day of my life." He says with that grin.

And Dean just. Laughs. No holds barred, unicorn, rainbow laugh.

They share a look, in which Cas says enough thank yous to probably make Dean give him whatever the hell he wants.

 _You're the best thing in my life_.

The thought steals through the spaces in between them, as he looks over at Cas petting the dog on his arm, his nose almost buried in the brown fur. And shit just got real. Cas is the best thing to happen to him. And he's in love with Cas.

\---

Cas names the dog Terrence because it apparently 'looks like a Terrence.' Dean buys the puppy a small kennel, but he might as well not have, because the little shit sleeps in Cas's room anyway. Sure it plays with Dean, and sometimes even likes him enough to stay outside in the scrapyard with him as he works on cars, but as soon as Cas gets home, it exclusively follows Cas around like it thinks Cas gave birth to it.

The house got a lot more interesting since Terrence came. For example, the floor is almost never pee-free. If the couch could talk, it would declare abuse. And Dean's shoes are massacred on a daily basis like Terrence got into its head that it's found its nemesis, a pair of them.

He doesn't know if he's punishing himself for getting Terrence, because out of all the inconvenience that the little monster is putting their meager household through, by far the most difficult is seeing Cas with the puppy, cuddling it, or even just when it rests its tiny furry head on Cas's lap when he's watching tv or reading. It reminds Dean of how impossibly human Cas has become, and how incredibly scared Dean feels of how much humanity can hurt Cas. It reminds Dean of how utterly in love he is with Cas.

\---

He tries his old-fashioned trick, his eternal go-to. Booze. Dean discovers that you can drown all aches in alcohol, heartache, pain, regret, guilt, grief. But not the buzz of being fucking in love.

The spaces they share are getting too small. And at times, Cas seems too close for comfort, yet sometimes...Dean needs him so much closer.

Cas sits beside him on the hood on one of the cars in the backyard on a clear night. The canopy of silver stars on the midnight blue sky spread in front them. Dean nurses a beer on his hand. Cas folds his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees, and Dean's breath hitches, his eyes linger on Cas's form, just a little longer. Marvels how this being, this wave of celestial intent could possibly have given up his heaven for him. And for once, Dean basks in it, all remnants of guilt pushed away. Cas, all six feet, flesh and bone, light and grace, beautiful and golden, pure and right, has fallen for him, is staying with him.

_You don't know, you just fucking dont know--_

Cas looks at him, says something that Dean is too busy looking at the movement of his lips to listen to.

"Dean?"

"Huh?"

Cas goes on back telling his story how the universe was really created, how the stars came about, how the particles out in space are one and the same as everything that is in this planet. Dean listens as Cas weaves his tale from words devised and spoken by man, and wonders how it all sounded so beautiful, and probably tastes like magic from Cas's mouth.

\---

Dean is not at all sober when he decides to bring a girl home. She's tall, red-haired and busty, game for anything, has probably seen and done everything. Dean has money and he will pay. It's been ages since he got laid, it's not that he's thirsty for it, it is merely a matter of demonstration that he's capable of still enjoying his previous activities, that there isn't a knob somewhere in there that's been deactivated by his emotional diarrhea.

It's just a kiss, she tastes of beer and menthol, and she's gorgeous. Her laugh is rich, like dark chocolate and leather, husky and deep. And that should turn Dean on. It does, a bit. He practically devours her mouth, hands grasping her arms as if she might run away.

_This, this is what you need, Dean. Get it out of your system._

He starts undressing her, tugging on her top. But that's when Cas says,

"The bed is seconds away upstairs, Dean."

Dean looks at Cas, by the door to the kitchen, his face expressionless, his features flat, and lips a grim thin line.

"Sorry," Dean mumbles, and tugs on the girl's hand to lead her to the stairs.

"What's got your panties in a twist? Geez." He adds under his breath just because he's an asshole.

Later, he hears Cas's bedroom door slam shut so hard, their adjoining wall shook.

In the morning, Dean pays the girl, gives her a ride to town, and then drives back home. He takes two tablets of aspirin, and raids the fridge for something to eat. He finally got laid after months of celibacy, and yet something nags him, that doesn't quite feel right, a knot in his gut. He doesn't see Cas the whole day.

\---

Cas is avoiding him. The whole damn week, they barely talk. Cas buys groceries, Dean makes dinner. They would eat together, but would talk little, small tastless talk that Dean would start. And Cas, Cas is just too unpretentious to fake that he's not angry. He is. Dean knows Cas is angry, and he probably knows why too, but he's too chickenshit to even admit it to himself that he's even remotely worthy to be the reason of Cas's anger.

\---

More rainy days roll in, and Dean finds himself coming down with a flu. Dean Winchester never gets sick, and he refuses to go have a check-up or take medicine. His cough worsens and becomes full-blown eventually.

Cas still doesn't talk to him, but Dean would find two pieces of Tylenol on the countertop every morning, and a thermos filled with steaming lemon tea with ginger and honey.

In the evenings Cas would cook soup, and they would eat in silence. He would stare at Cas in between coughing fits, because he misses talking to him, and Dean knows that this phase is temporary, something they need to go through.

It's not a matter of hurting Cas, it's simply a matter of making sure, making damn sure that they're in the same boat. Because it would kill him, it would destroy him, if he loses Cas over something as trivial as his state of emotion for his best friend.

Dean wakes himself up coughing in the middle of the night--hacking, relentless coughing. He feels like his lungs might be permanently damaged.

Cas doesn't even knock. In the darkened room, Dean sees Cas coming over to the bed, looming over him. He feels delirious, and he's burning up. When he wakes up again, it's to an ice-cold, damp cloth being pressed to his forehead.

"Cas, I'm sorry." Yeah, he's delirious.

"Dean, I need to get you better." Dean frowns at him. Cas sits him up.

"Take your shirt off, Dean. You're burning up, we need to get your temperature to come down."

Dean obeys without qualms, takes off his pants as well, until he's clad only in his boxers. Cas all but bathes him with ice-cold water while in bed.

"You're always doing things for me, Cas. Stop."

"Yes, I am. It would be a shame to stop now."

Dean's breath catches as Cas runs the damp cloth on his chest, on his arms. Cas's fingers are firm, but gentle against his wrist. This is what Cas gave up heaven for. Nursing Dean back to his cursed, wee little life as a functioning member of society, a mechanic.

"If you hate me so much, why don't you just leave, Cas?"

Cas halts his ministrations, stares down at a spot on the bed sheet.

"Is that what you want? Do you want me to leave?"

Dean's heart hammers on his chest.

 _No. Please don't leave me_.

Cas looks up at him then, and he owes Cas the truth.

"No. I want you to stay, Cas. Always."

Nothing happens, just Cas searching his eyes.

"Please don't hate me. Do you hate me, Cas?"

There is a break in his voice, and he cannot even scold himself to man up like the usual because he's tired of his own bullshit.

A beat, and Cas almost smiles. He shakes his head.

"Even if I want to, I could never. I could never hate you, Dean."

Cas holds his stare and Dean thinks he wants to say a million things to Cas. But Cas looks down after some time, hiding his eyes, and then he continues to run the cloth on Dean's skin. Dean doesn't break his gaze at Cas's face, and he thinks to himself that he cannot fuck this up.

\---

September comes in, Dean's auto shop continues generating more income. The house starts looking like a real house, Terrence has become twice its size when Dean originally got it from the pet shelter. Sam visits once in a while, birthdays and holidays. Dean swears he visits more for the dog because when Sam is home, Terrence somehow forgets that Cas is its mum. Sam tells them he has a girlfriend, and that he would soon take her to meet the family. Dean misses hunting at times that he goes out even if only for a little case of salt and burn, and it usually does him good. But other than that, he can never be more content without the travesties and emotional baggage of a hunter's life. Everything is relatively good, life could not be more simpler, or better. Except when it could.Be better.

There are times Dean would wonder how in hell can he survive staying with Cas under the same roof without losing his mind.

The only washroom upstairs was across from Dean's room. One gloomy September morning finds Dean talking with Sam on the phone, his door wide open into the hallway, he was ready to start the day in the shop when Sam called. Out of the blue, Cas appears in the hallway, with only a white towel on. He walks to the the bathroom, casts a sideways glance at Dean's direction as he was going inside, begins to close the bathroom door behind him, but takes off the towel completely just before the door shuts, effectively flashing Dean with two globes of perfectly sculpted ass, ass that might as well have come down from heaven. Just like that, Dean loses all ability to breathe or speak.

Sam starts yelling at him on the other line.

"Are you still there? Dean!"

And all Dean could think is the little shit knows what the hell he's doing to Dean.

\---

He's been holding out. Because he's a mosochistic idiot who's a coward when Cas is involved. At times, not being able to tell Cas every fucking day how he really feels toward him becomes too much that Dean has to step out of the house, get as far as possible away from Cas.

\---

It's a lazy, late afternoon in October, Dean sits across from Cas in the living room couch, he's trying to read a book, Cas watches tv on mute. In the background, the radio's turned on low. A song comes on, and it's to this that Dean watches Cas, sitting slumped on the couch in an awkward angle, a throw pillow tucked on the side of his face. His legs stretched and propped on the coffee table. He looks...bored. And beautiful, always beautiful. Damn son of a bitch doesn't even have a clue. This, this is what Cas gave heaven up for, slow lazy afternoons with Dean, watching home shopping network on mute. Dean swallows a smile, God he's so fucked up.

I will not ask you where you came from

_I will not ask you, and neither should you_

_Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips_

_We should just kiss like real people do._

And he's just getting up, striding towards Cas, not even hurried. Everything comes down to this, because it's been long overdue. Cas looks up at him when Dean comes closer, and Dean smiles, because he can. He doesn't need to keep himself from being happy. Because he is happy.

He crouches down towards Cas's space, and stops inches away from Cas's face. Cas gapes at him.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Cas."

Cas doesn't answer, he holds Dean's face, closes the gap, and touches his lips to Dean.

Dean thinks he might cry, he's kissing Cas. He's finally kissing Cas. Dean presses his lips more urgently against Cas's, deepens contact, and Cas opens his mouth, tongue seeking Dean's lips. And then they're officially making out, and Dean thanks the universe above them.

\---

It's awkward, Dean didn't know what to do or say after their kiss that afternoon. Cas looked dumbstruck, seated on the couch, his hair sticking out in all directions from Dean's fingers running through it.

Dean strode out the living room without a word, because he thought he was going to pass out if he tried to explain himself.

He hides in his room the whole night, not even bothering to eat dinner. It's late when Cas knocks on his door, and Dean is thinking if he should pretend to be sleeping. He's still trying to devise a reasonable plan in his mind when Cas opens his door, finding Dean right in front of it, catching him mid-thought.

They stare at each other like idiots.

"I'm going to sleep here," Cas finally says.

"With you."

Dean's heart starts hammering against his ribcage.

"Okay." That's all he manages to say.

It takes a few moments where they stand there awkwardly, before Cas finally moves toward the bed.

Dean can only look at him. Cas gently, slowly flips the bed covers.

And Dean thinks, Cas is here. Cas is with me. Cas is staying. Cas is mine. And that makes him immensely happy.

He finally moves to be near Cas, he stands close to him, his chest an inch away from Cas's back. Dean's breath fanning goosebumps on the skin on Cas's nape. Dean runs his hands from Cas's shoulders to his arms, hands, to his fingertips. He interlaces their fingers. He feels Cas's breath catch.

"Cas."

Cas cranes his neck slightly, not quite looking at Dean, so that Dean is looking at the side of Cas's face.

"I should probably let you know," Dean says, his breath mere inches from Cas's ear.

"Hmm?"

"I'm really, really, really in love with you."

Cas chuckles under his breath. Dean presses his lips on the back of Cas's neck, softly, gently.

Cas doesn't say anything for some time. And when he does, he says,

"That's convenient. Because I'm really in love with you too."

Dean presses little kisses on Cas's neck, gently, but urgently. He noses the hair on the back of his neck, inhaling Cas's scent, and Dean thinks this, this is the reason he's put here. To be with Cas. 

Cas sways on his feet, his fingers tightening their grips on Dean's, and then bringing their arms around his torso. Dean buries his head where Cas's neck and shoulder meet.

"You have no idea how bad I've wanted this."

"I bet I have some idea."

Dean laughs against his skin. He releases Cas's fingers and trails his hand inside Cas's shirt, he traces the skin on Cas's stomach with feather touches. He feels Cas's breath catch.

"I've been holding my breath around you for some time now." Dean says, they sway together a bit, like a little dance.

Cas finally turns to face him, frames his face in his hands, rests his forehead against his, and then combs his fingers through Dean's hair as he opens his mouth to claim Dean's. Dean's brain short circuits because it feels so damn good to be kissed by Cas. Cas devours his mouth, and Dean can only let him. He meets Cas's tongue, and they melt together, in agony and heaven.

His hands are everywhere, in Cas's hair, in Cas's arms, hands, chest, back. Until they're squeezing Cas's ass, grinding his lower body towards Dean, and that elicits a positively debauched moan from Cas as Dean plunders his mouth.

Dean takes his shirt off, dragging Cas's head towards his chest.

"I want your mouth on me." Cas concedes without qualm, and delivers like he means it. Dean thinks Cas's tongue should have a patent, or insurance at least. He pressed open-mouthed kisses all over Dean's chest, unhurried, wet, sloppy, hot and meltingly good. He descends to Dean's stomach, and Dean has to throw his head back to keep from convulsing because Cas is tracing his tongue against Dean's navel, on that thin patch of hair that disappears into his waistband.

"Stand up, Cas." When he does, Dean invades his space, gives him soft gentle kisses on every exposed skin. And even as he does, he's undoing Cas's pants, until they along with his boxers are a puddle around Cas's ankles.

Dean peers into his eyes and nowhere else, as he touches without word or warning Cas's dick. Cas inhales a sharp breath, like he's been burned.

"Dean!" Dean starts a gentle stroke on Cas's dick, starts at the base, tightening up top, and twisting his fist when he gets to the head of the shaft. Cas thrashes a bit, and Dean has to whisper calming things to his ears, never stopping his strokes.

"Take your shirt off, Cas. I want to know how you taste." Cas does, and Dean wastes no precious seconds, his mouth is plastered to Cas's chest right away. He swirls his tongue around one of Cas's nipple, and Cas tightens his grip on Dean's hair.

"I think.." Cas starts.

Dean chuckles, because Cas is so hot, but he's cute as fuck too.

"What?" He whispers against Cas's skin, still stroking his erection.

"I think I might die, Dean." Cas whimpers.

"I'm gonna have a problem with that."

"Please."

"Please what?" He smiles, and fans a hot breath against Cas's other nipple.

"I don't know, Dean. I want..something."

"And I'm going to give it to you."

"Okay."

Dean straightens, stops his stroke on Cas's cock, but keeps his hand holding it firmly. He looks at Cas squarely, waits for him to look back.

"For as long as we both shall live." Cas's eyes clear, and he really looks at Dean.

"..if that's okay with you," Dean adds.

Cas swallows, and holds his hand over Dean's that is gripping his cock, he moves it over once, twice so that they're both jerking him off.

"I'm going to go ahead and say it's okay, Dean." Cas says, out of breath.

"It's really more than okay. For-as-long-as-we-both-shall-live." He punctuates each word with a stroke of their hands on his cock. And Dean can only look as their hands on top of each other pumps Cas's leaking dick, and it's too much visual stimulation, that any hope for his semi-erection goes out the window. He's now fully hard.

Dean takes off his jeans and boxers in a heartbeat, all but pulls down Cas's head towards his crotch.

"Cas please, suck me." And Cas falls to his knees, gets on with it like it's his job. No licks or playful kisses, just full on blowjob, his tongue swirling around his shaft with every pump. "

You fucking look so beautiful with your lips around my dick, Cas. Do you know that? Fuck, that feels so good."

When he's about to come, Dean grabs at Cas's chin, holds his face up so that Dean can look at his face, his eyes glazed with lust, his hair so sexily undone, his lips, god his lips, so red from being just fucked. And Dean realizes Cas is stroking his own cock the whole time he's giving Dean head.

Dean loses it, and pushes Cas down the bed, Cas crashes, his dick so hard it bounces like a spring against his really well-sculpted abs.

Dean straddles Cas, milks Cas's cock once, twice, gets enough precum to use as lube, he opens himself up with one then two, and then three fingers. When he's ready he gives Cas open-mouthed kisses, and screams into Cas's mouth when he finally, finally impales himself on Cas's cock.

"Dean!"

"What?"

"It's so good."

Dean starts moving, gently moving forward and back, settling himself to the hilt. And Cas moves as well.

"That's right Cas. You like that? We can do this everyday. You can fuck me every morning, every night, I don't care....I want to fucking give you the stars."

Cas keeps his eyes on him as he moves more urgently, his mouth agape. Dean moves steadily, until his need burns so hot, he starts bouncing on Cas's dick frantically. Cas beneath him groans in pleasure ceaselessly, Cas's husky moans fueling Dean to reach his climax, because god, Cas's sex moans would have been enough to make him come untouched. Dean leans down so that their chests and tummies are touching, Dean puts his arms around Cas's head, kisses his mouth as he continues to fuck himself on Cas.

"I'm coming, Cas." And then he's coming so hard, he floods both their chests in semen. He stays glued to Cas's chest, panting against his ear.

"Dean, can I...?"

"Fuck me, Cas."

Cas flips them, and starts pumping his cock steadily in Dean's asshole.

"Dean!"

"Yeah, baby, that's right. You're doing good, fuck that feels so good, Cas."

Cas fucks like he means it, he starts hammering Dean's ass so hard and fast, until his beat becomes frantic, and uneven, until he's coming inside Dean's ass.

Dean moves his buttocks up and down Cas's cock, effectively milking every last drop of come from Cas. And they are kissing. Small, gentle pecks.

"I think I like this better than stars, Dean." Cas says hours after they've come down from their high.

"When we're done here, and I'm not sure when that'll be, because honestly, I don't think all those years of pent-up sexual tension's been depleted yet, I will fucking give you anything you want, Cas. Anything."

"Is that a threat?"

Dean buries his nose in Cas's hair.

"Yes. You shall get everything you want."

"This is it for me, Dean. This is just it. I got the house. The dog. The husband."

Dean freezes.

Cas freezes.

"I meant--"

"You meant husband."

"No, I meant, I didn't mean to--"

"So Cas, will you marry me?" Dean says like it's nobody's business.

Cas looks up at him from snuggling his neck.

"That's not--I meant--you don't have to.."

"Will you marry me, Castiel?"

Cas stops for a second, completely, utterly resigns the next.

"Yes." Cas says. "Yes Dean, I will."

"Good." Dean says, and kisses his fiance.


End file.
